<$BlogRSDUrl$>

Sunday, September 26, 2004

I had a dream a long time ago that I was trying to join the X-Men, but I spaced out and could never make it to any of the meetings.

I went back and visited my hippie school the other day, and realized, had I been Captain Flightsuit and stayed the course over there instead of jumping ship to the community college, I would most certainly be part of the school's ruling cabal; the intellecual, popular girls (you better believe it; I love that school, even if the classes were a joke). So, I had made my choice; sever my ties to the ruling class of the hippie school, and seek out world unknown elsewhere.

I start school very soon. I don't like it. Actually, I like having school because it gives me something to do; but I hate summer ending because it makes me think of all the things I didn't do, like, you know, anything. SOMETHING. In fact, it's getting harder and harder for me to wake up, and harder and harder for me to go to sleep. Today's record: asleep at 5am, up at 2pm. Too bad I have to shift gears to a school schedule in, oh, five hours.

So It's not surprising that I dreamt of wanting to be in the X-Men; I had, soon after, decided it was a reflection of me badly trying to get the attention of the popular girls and let them know that I am ruling class material. As of now, I am a freelance superhero, alone in the world.

I have a writing group that I go to very regularly and I love it because I get to write nonsense; unfortunately, my friends forgot to tell me when the group began, and I missed most of it, so I wrote a bunch of nonsense about how alone I felt. (Really, this kills me; I'm incredibly thin-skinned, and being fresh out of adolescence never helps.) But, unfortunately, I also wrote about how I wasn't from this world, how I felt that I was trying my hardest to project myself into this world and it doesn't work; and what I want, more than anything, is to have somebody else visit my world and maybe I will see theirs.

_That's_ what gets me. There's nobody, except for maybe my mom, for which I can tell them things through hand gestures or let them know what I'm thinking. Day in, day out, it's Mayor Leticia, always putting on the best face for the world around her. And I can tell you that I'm sick of it; but I'm so stuck in it that I don't know what else to do.

And _that's_ why I wanted to join the X-Men, have a name and a purpose, or at least be a part of something. I'm just sick of talking to myself. There's a whole world inside me and nobody gets to see it, well... ever.

So I'm not all that sad (anymore, that is; you can tell by my ability to write all this) I just don't know where to go with myself. I always called myself a late bloomer; where do I find, well, my X-Men? When I was a kid (this is what gets to me) I was very well-behaved and obedient and I surrounded myself with good people, but... for all of that, I never had a club, never had a stock-in-trade, never had a passion or an interest or a love. I suppose that's what gets to me the most; an overwhelming feeling of nothingness. Passionlessness.

When I'm sad, I often bask in that sadness, never let it go, because it means I'm feeling something and every time my gut churns one full circle it reminds me that I'm human. That's why I think I have no passion; I look inside myself and draw a blank.

Actually, this time I did try to find myself, and so I put on a scuba suit and dived into this huge bank of mud that stretched on forever throughout the caverns of my mind, and it was gross and stupid and I hated it, but somewhere in there I saw a naked woman, asleep, cased in a glass ball, never to get out underneath all the mud and baggage caked around her.

I suppose it's my duty to unearth that woman.

I owe it to myself, anyway.
Comments:
Not much to say, as a result of knowing what you mean.

It's a combination of having nothing to fight for, the fact that intensity is necessarily going to be followed by bouts of numbness and the fact that we are terminally alone. You can interface with others but talking to yourself is the closest you'll get to a conversation where both parties actually fully understand what the other is saying...

bering
 
What many "normal" girls get stuck with
 
Post a Comment

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?